


Of Wolf and Man

by NathanielCardeu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Lemon, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-21 07:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10680312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NathanielCardeu/pseuds/NathanielCardeu
Summary: Bill Weasley has lusted after Hermione for some time. But what with French witches, werewolf bites and psychotic Dark wizards, finding the right time for them to be together has been… difficult. Is it possible for Bill to deal with the hurdles and be with the woman he truly loves? Or will all these things conspire to keep them apart for ever?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/Author's Notes: This story was previously posted on Granger Enchanted as part of a writing challenge;
> 
> Prompt: He bit her on the cusp of the full moon as his hair grew longer and his canines elongated...she should Avada him into dust but she loved him just as much as he needed her.
> 
> Thank you to Shini for the alpha read and brilliant advice, to my beta for loving my Bill and keeping me on track. And thank you to the prompt giver, the lovely Mistress Malfoy… seriously, thank you! I had so much fun writing this one :)
> 
> Disclaimer: These wonderful characters and their settings are not mine. They belong to JKR and I thank her for creating them and giving me something to write about. However the fact that they don’t belong to me never seems to stop me making them play/live/love/fight with each other!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aesthetic by the awesome Mr Benzedrine

The sun was bright and warm, a blazing ball of fire in the clear, blue sky. Flags and pennants waved lazily in the breeze, the green of Ireland and the red of Bulgaria. The huge edifice that was the stadium loomed in the middle distance, the place where the Quidditch World Cup would be decided in a little over two hours time.

It was difficult to work out just how hard it would be for the Ministry to conduct a clean up, once the mayhem had died down. So many witches and wizards were crammed into this space and there were hundreds of magic folk periodically renewing and strengthening the various charms that surrounded the area. The after effects of the magic would probably affect the local wildlife for some time to come; they’d avoid the area completely for a while, shunning it instinctively.

Bill Weasley watched the carnage that spilled over from the excited masses as they awaited the signal to enter the arena. He wondered which set of fans would be the most vocal, the more enthusiastic, when the kick off came. Actually, Bill thought to himself, as he watched both sets of fans, he would bet on the Irish any day, especially if alcohol was involved!

He continued to watch the crowd dance and sing in preparation for the match, a drink in one hand, smiling as he heard his father berating his younger brothers – the twins Fred and George – over something. From the corner of his eye, one particular group caught his attention; a small group of four happy teenagers. His eyes were drawn to only one member of the group though, ignoring his youngest brother and the famous Harry Potter. He didn’t know the third lad in their midst but he certainly knew the only girl with them.

Her hair was wild and untamed, bushy and free. Her face was lit up in carefree laughter and he knew that she would soon become a beauty, unlike any other he had met in his life.

He sensed two people approach but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the girl. As they spoke, standing on either side of him, Bill inwardly sighed, knowing what was to come from these two.

 “What are you staring at, young William?” asked one of his younger brothers in a jovial manner. Which one it was he didn’t know yet but Bill mentally prepared himself for the onslaught.

 “I think it’s a fair beauty from the strange look in his eyes, Fred,” declared an identical voice from his other side.

 “Maybe he’s sick, George. Some kind of wide-eyed, drooling fever, perhaps?”

 “I think he _is_ sick, Fred. I’ve just seen who he’s looking at!” George pointed towards the group that had captured Bill’s attention and the older Weasley rolled his eyes at their mock gasps of horror.

 “Oh… oh no, George. You must be wrong. Bill wouldn’t….” began Fred.

 “Look,” snapped Bill, “just shut up, the pair of you!”

 “Sweet Merlin, you _were_ , weren’t you?” said Fred. “Hermione Granger?! Gross!”

With a sigh the eldest Weasley brother grabbed Fred and George’s collars and started to drag them away from the group, before they made a scene and attracted attention. “Look, she’s nice, okay. She’s cute, smart, funny, bit serious at times but when you talk to her and really engage…”

 “Oh Merlin’s nut sack, Bill!” said George, exasperated and pulling himself free of his brother’s grip. “It doesn’t matter if she’s a stunning beauty! She’s fourteen!”

 “Technically she’s nearer fifteen,” Bill muttered, releasing Fred as well but not stopping. “She’s older in terms of maturity, definitely; maybe fifteen and a half, sixteen even?”

 “In what world!? She’s fourteen now!” yelled Fred, gesturing back towards the happy teenagers.

 “Okay, her birthday’s in September. So, yeah, nearly fifteen,” conceded George and Fred shrugged as the pair kept near Bill’s side as he walked.

 “Yeah, we’ll give you that one, Bill.”

 “Because we’re nice like that.”

 “But still no-where near sixteen! Where did you get that from?”

 “Are you having an early mid-life crisis or something?” asked George, looking concerned.

 “Wizards usually wait till they’re about fifty, Bill.”

 “You’re twenty five years early! Chasing an inappropriately younger woman…”

 “Wearing an earring…”

 “Next you’ll be buying a motorbike!”

Bill muttered under his breath for a moment before turning to look at his infuriating brothers, who were grinning from ear to ear. “Look, in her third year, she used a time turner. She repeated most of her school year about three times. That’s got to be at least another six, seven months of maturity right there!”

 “Gross! But he is right, Fred”

 “How so, oh so very intelligent looking sibling of mine,” said Fred, putting his hand under his chin. Seeing the looks on their faces Bill gazed up at the sky and prayed for strength; they were off again!

 “Okay, follow me closely. Thirty eight weeks in the school year, less holidays and such?” said George, waving his fingers.

 “Nine and a half months, right there, give or take,” agreed Fred, holding up both hands, fingers splayed and waggling one thumb.

 “Take off weekends.”

 “Makes about hundred and ninety days, wouldn’t you say?”

 “You’re the one with the looks!” declared George.

 “So that’s twenty seven weeks,” said Fred.

 “Why, that’s just over six months,” George said, as if it was a huge revelation.

 “Merlin’s beard, you’re right! Repeat that over and over… how many times would you say?”

 “Knowing Hermione…”

 “Which we do…” they said together, glancing at Bill.

 “… at least twice, three times maybe?”

 “Oo! She dropped Divination!” said Fred.

George clicked his fingers in agreement. “So that saved her some time.”

 “Call it two and a half?” asked Fred.

 “Good suggestion,” said George with a nod.

 “Thank you!”

 “So that’s about sixty seven weeks!” said George, loudly.

 “Which is a year and three months!” said Fred, his hands clapping to his cheeks.

 “Added to her current age…”

 “Makes her just over sixteen!”

 “Merlin, we’re clever,” claimed George, as the twins high fived each other.

 “Are you quite finished?” Bill asked, through gritted teeth, his arms folded.

 “Won’t hold up though, mate,” said Fred, ignoring his older brother completely. “Official birthdays are what counts… and she’s only had fourteen of them!”

 “Besides, think of the span of years remaining between you two,” said George, turning to Bill at last.

 “More than ten years, I reckon, brother dear,” said Fred, concern in his eyes as he looked at Bill.

 “Easily.”

 “Minimum, I’d say!”

 “Indubitably!” laughed George.

 “You two need to go back and check your math again, lads,” said Bill, annoyance in his tone. “I’m twenty three and she’s nearly fifteen and technically, by your dodgy math, she’s sixteen, in terms of maturity. Nothing like ten years…

 “No, Bill,” George said, with a grin.

 “We’re thinking of how long you’ll be in Azkaban for trying to dick an underage witch!”

 “She’s still under seventeen.”

 “Too young!” Fred said, shaking his head, sadly.

George nodded, sagely. “That way lies heartache, brother.”

 “Rape accusations.”

 “Headlines!” With every word the twins came closer to Bill, pushing into his personal space.

 “Uncomfortable conversations with Mum!” said Fred, a look of mock horror in his eyes.

 “Ooo, yeah!” George cried, gripping Fred’s arm, biting his own knuckle and wincing in imagined pain.

 “That’s got to be worse than the Dementors, I reckon, Bill,” stated Fred, patting George on the hand. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

 “Fred? George? Just fuck off, the pair of you,” said Bill, placing his hands on their foreheads and pushing them away from his face.

The older man shoved past and stalked off, hearing the twins burst into laughter behind him. It didn’t matter what they said; he knew that Hermione Granger was lodged in his heart. She was going to be an incredible beauty and her sharp mind made her even more attractive to him. Even though the twins were right and it _was_ a little inappropriate at the moment, due to her age, he couldn’t help his feelings and knew that he wanted her.

He would claim her eventually, he thought to himself.

However the years passed and the chance never came for him to make his move. They had moments where they spoke but more often Hermione was not around when Bill was home or visiting the Burrow. And then there was Fleur Delacour.

The blonde and beautiful, French witch had transferred to England, taking a job at Gringotts, primarily to help her English, but it put the two of them together on a near daily basis. Gradually she worked her way into his heart, smothering his romantic feelings for Hermione with her beauty. The family thought of her as cold but they didn’t see the heart of her, didn’t understand how wonderful she was. Charlie told him that he was getting taken in by a part Veela and that nothing but trouble would come of it in time.

There were times when his duties for the Order put him in contact with Hermione for brief moments. In those fleeting times he saw a part of his feelings for her trying to resurface, struggling past his affection for Fleur. Things only seemed to get worse after he had his scars, a permanent gift from the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback  during the battle that had seen the death of Dumbledore, at Hogwarts. He had barely survived himself but something had pulled him through.

At first he believed that it was the care and attention of the medi-witches at St Mungo’s. Soon though he realised that his improvements and moments of greater clarity came in those times that Fleur left him for a while, whether for the night or to take meals. He had discussed it with Charlie, corresponding by owl from his hospital bed. Charlie simply repeated what he had said before: Fleur’s part Veela nature was clouding Bill’s mind and judgement and to get out now, before he was hurt worse than ever.

He hadn’t listened but there was something inside him now, since the attack; something feral and filled with rage. He found himself getting snippy and quick to anger – irritable, especially around the full moon. He spoke with Remus about it on a regular basis but the older man assured him that he was just feeling a little resonance from his attack: a bleed through of Fenrir’s anger and bloodlust. It will pass in time, the older man had told the red-head.

It hadn’t.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

A year later and he stood on the cliff top, outside Shell Cottage – his home with Fleur – and stared at the night sky. The dark and shredded clouds reminded Bill of claws; dirty, ragged fingernails that reached for him in the darkness, ripping through his flesh and shrivelling his soul. The light behind those grasping fingers called to him. It screamed, silently, through his bones, laughing at his protests. Every month he felt it, stronger and stronger each time, and he had no way of fighting it.

No matter what he did he felt it taking over him: a disease that grew and multiplied within him by the second.

He gazed out at the bay, the wind rippling the tall dune grass around him like water. Sand shifted and flowed, like it was transforming, much like he was. The only light in the area was covered by more clouds and the night sky darkened perceptively. Despite the cover Bill could still feel exactly where the moon was in the sky.

It called still louder, mocking him.

 “You can feel it, can’t you?” said a woman’s voice at his shoulder.

He spun, startled and surprised that someone had managed to creep up on him. He had been so distracted by the roaring in his soul that he hadn’t heard her, hadn’t smelt her perfume, even though the wind brought it straight to his nose.

Now he was aware of her he could see nothing else, his mind was filled with her, her presence smothering the dark power inside him as easily as he would crush a Flobberworm. His sundered soul settled, quiescent once more, as he took a deep, calming breath.

Hermione had taken a step back when he span round, fear evident in her eyes, and Bill felt a surge of sorrow. His appearance was clearly upsetting to her still, especially in this light.

He couldn’t see the way his face had twisted with hunger and need at the sound of her voice; the light of desire in his eyes when he saw her, or hear the growl of possessiveness that rumbled in his chest. He would have recognised the reason for her fear if he had seen his face in that moment of surprise.

He turned back to look across the beach, hiding his pain from her, his stomach clenching in knots, unaware of his lapse. His feelings for Hermione surged inside him, helped by the presence of the moon and he found himself remembering the last time he had seen her, his thoughts so clear in her presence. It seemed like years ago now, even though it was only eight months.

He had spoken with her at the wedding; the wedding that hadn’t happened. _His_ wedding, it was supposed to have been. Kingsley Shacklebolt’s Patronus had interrupted the ceremony before the Binding could be completed and the Death Eaters had arrived soon afterwards.

His conversation with Hermione had been brief but he had felt so conflicted by his feelings for her. It was then that he had known that something inside him wanted her, more than it wanted Fleur. The thing inside him _needed_ Hermione; felt that she was a vital part of his life. He had felt an urge to taste her skin when they had hugged. He had come so close to biting her that day, while her bare shoulder had rested beneath his chin.

 “Bill,” she said, tentatively when he didn’t speak, “ _can_ you feel the moon?

Almost against his will, Bill’s gaze turned upwards, towards the night time clouds. He took a sharp breath as he felt a pull within his heart. He took a couple of calming breaths before answering. “It’s like an eye, always watching me. You know that itch, between your shoulders, when you feel you’re being observed by someone unseen: watched when you’re vulnerable?” He sensed her step up beside him, her little hand reaching up to touch his shoulder gently, his blood surging in response. “Fleur says that I’m paranoid, that I’m imagining things. She says it’s not getting worse but it’s just because there have been no other distractions since we moved here. I don’t think I am though, Hermione… it calls to me, stronger and stronger each month.”

 “How can that be?” Hermione asked, breathlessly. “You’re not a werewolf, Bill! You were attacked by one but he wasn’t in his wolf form, you’re not like Professor Lupin…”

 “But I _am_ affected by the Wolfsbane.  Fleur makes sure I drink a sleeping draught with plenty of it in, around the full moon.” Bill looked down at Hermione, feeling her hand grip his arm tighter.

 “She… she _drugs_ you!?” Hermione asked, appalled.

Bill laughed, lightly. “It was an idea we came up with together and is only a precaution, she says, just until we can find some way of counter-acting the curse. She doesn’t want to marry a werewolf, after all, even though she says she doesn’t believe that I will become one.”

Hermione hugged herself, clearly uncomfortable with what she was hearing. “So how are you doing with finding a way to counter-act it?”

 “Fleur takes regular trips to the local city to talk with the wizards there. So far they’ve not been able to come up with anything but she is trying her best… I think.” Bill shook his head, dismissing the feelings of doubt. She loved him; he knew it every time he was near her. It was only while he was away from her that these doubts crept in, his own paranoia tainting their love.

 “But… all that I’ve read… the lycanthropy curse doesn’t work that way, Bill. It’s not like a virus, growing stronger over time. You either are or you aren’t. You can’t get _worse_ and become a werewolf!”

 “I used to be a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts, out in Egypt. I think I might know a little bit more about curses, Hermione,” he said, with a sad smile.

 “But… there’s _nothing_ … in _any_ of the books about it! There would have been something if it had happened to someone else! Surely you can’t be the first to suffer from this!” Hermione’s voice was climbing, plaintive almost.

 “Hermione, what happens to most people that get attacked by a werewolf? They either die from their injuries or become werewolves themselves. What if someone survives an attack from a werewolf, like I did, and they begin to turn… gradually seeing that change in themselves? How many would want to keep going? How much better would it be to just end it first, while you had the chance, before it destroyed you?” Bill’s voice was cold and he could do nothing to change that. He saw the sorrow in Hermione’s gaze and he knew that she could see his pain, knew the very thoughts he had entertained.

 “Bill…” she began, holding his arm again, “you mustn’t talk like that. I don’t like that Fleur drugs you and I don’t think that is helping you. There’s got to be an alternative, somewhere.”

Bill sighed, resting a gentle hand on the smaller witch’s shoulder, feeling her warmth through the fabric of her robes. “It’s not so bad, Hermione. Fleur’s my Alpha female, the only woman who would have me now, looking the way I do.”

Hermione looked up at him, a fierce determination in her eyes. “I don’t see your scars anymore, Bill. And I certainly wouldn’t drug you. If you really wanted it then maybe the wolfsbane, but not to put a part of your soul to sleep!”

Her voice was low and even, repressed anger bubbling beneath the surface and Bill wondered why she was so angry. What Fleur did, she did for both of them, to make sure that they were happy. Why couldn’t Hermione understand that?

He heard Fleur, calling for him. It was time for his medicine. It was the first night of the full moon tonight and he needed to feel safe.

 “Here we go,” he said, with a strained smile, “it’s time.” He sighed as the beautiful witch looked away from him, tears sparkling in her eyes. He left her on the dunes, shivering despite the warm air.

It was strange, Bill thought as he walked towards the cottage. All that he had said to Hermione had begun to sound false; bad ideas founded upon poor ideals, a feeling of being trapped by his beautiful fiancé. A fiancé he occasionally suspected of having an affair in the city. She went there an awful lot, after all. But, as he joined Fleur at the door and looked into her eyes, those doubts melted away. He knew that she only had his best interests at heart and that she loved him.

Despite her cold greeting and the brusque manner with which she gave him his medicine, Bill knew in his heart that he was loved and she was only concerned for him. He had long ago dismissed Charlie’s warnings, about the French beauty’s Veela heritage, clouding his judgement.


	2. Chapter 2

“Bill, stop eet!” demanded Fleur as she wiped the soap bubbles from her face. “Eet is not funny! I am soaked.”

Bill laughed at her annoyed expression, a strange energy flowing through him today. It had started when he had awoken and had not left him, even though it had been a busy day, housework wise. Nothing seemed to quell this feeling of excitement, this need to run or do… something… something fun.

He grimaced in annoyance as Fleur threw down the tea towel and stalked off, saying that she was going into town for more supplies. “ _Someone_ is eating us out of ‘ouse and ‘ome!” she declared, throwing an unsubtle look in Ron’s direction, where he and Harry sat on the sofa quietly talking.

The pair didn’t notice and Fleur grabbed her wand and coat, flouncing out of the cottage and slamming the door after her.

Bill gave a grunt of laughter and turned back to the dishes and carried on washing them.

 “Any reason why you’re not doing this by magic, Bill?” asked Hermione, joining him at the sink and retrieving Fleur’s discarded tea towel.

Bill shrugged, feeling his heart leap at the feel of Hermione’s small body at his side as he washed up. “Just got an excess of energy today, for some reason. Trying to do everything by hand, see if I can burn some of it off.”

Hermione smiled at that and set to work wiping up. She chatted to him, discussing his job as a Curse-Breaker, his transfer to England and everything before and after. She cleverly steered the conversation away from what Harry, Ron and her were up to; where they had been, what had happened before they arrived… why he now had a dead elf, buried in his garden! He found he didn’t mind though. It was wonderful having her next to him as they did simple, domestic chores. Her voice was soothing and he could listen to her all day.

It was just a shame he wanted to do more than talk today. He wanted to play!

 “Hermione,” he whispered sharply, as if he had seen something important. Hermione stopped speaking and turned to look at him, her eyes wide. At that moment, Bill wiped a handful of soap bubbles over her face.

She spluttered in shock, spitting out the foam and staring at him as if he had gone mad. So he did it again, water from his cupped hand spilling down her top as well.

He could feel the huge grin on his face, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth. He couldn’t control his expression at all and he felt so… alive! Hermione looked down at herself for a moment before slapping the tea towel on the counter.

Bill felt a moment of disappointment; this was exactly what Fleur had done. Seemed no-one wanted to pla…

The shock of the soaking wet dishcloth, slapping wetly around his face, made him gasp in surprise. Pulling the wet rag off his eyes, spitting out the dishwater, he looked at Hermione, uncomprehending for a moment. Her face was bright and her eyes full of laughter; her lips quivered with a repressed smile and one eyebrow rose in challenge.

 “Oh, it’s on!” Bill said quietly and grabbed the remaining crockery, scooping it out of the washing bowl. Lifting the bowl from the sink he sloshed water onto the floor as he shifted his grip.

Hermione, realising what he was planning, gave a shriek and sprang away from him, running into the lounge and round the sofa. She ducked behind Harry and Ron, both of whom had stood at her scream, thinking they were under attack. Hermione held their shoulders, putting them between her and Bill. “Bill!” she yelled, mock-seriously, giggling a little as the red-head entered the room. “No! William Arthur Weasley, you put it down, now!”

Bill laughed as Ron and Harry looked at him, their eyes goggling at the older man.

 “What the hell are you doing, Bill?” asked Ron.

 “Don’t think that hiding behind my brother is going to save you, Hermione,” Bill said, swirling the water in the bowl slightly. “I’ll soak him! I’ve done it before.”

Ron started trying to edge out of the way, Hermione keeping a grip on his collar. “He will, Hermione. I’m no protection at all! You have _no_ idea what it was like being the youngest boy, growing up with five brothers!”

 “Okay,” said Hermione, slightly desperately, “what about Harry?” She released Ron, grabbing her bespectacled friend and dragging him squarely in front of her, peering over his shoulder and quivering with mirth.

 “Uh… Hermione…” Harry stammered, nervously, eyeing the washing up bowl.

 “You wouldn’t drench Harry, would you, Bill?” Hermione said.

 “The Boy-Who-Lived?” asked Bill, glancing down at the bowl. He looked up and grinned, wickedly. “Yeah, fuck him!”

He swung the bowl, the water sloshing towards the pair. Ron scrambled away, his legs knocking into the sofa and tripping him. Hermione screamed with laughter and sprang to the side as Harry turned his face and lifted his hands to try and ward off the water.

Harry stumbled backward, coughing and choking as Ron lay on the floor, laughing at the surprise on his friend’s face. Hermione in the meantime had scooped up a cushion from the sofa and whacked Bill soundly round the face, staggering him and making him drop the empty bowl.

In a flash she took to her heels, ducking through the front door and out onto the cliff top, Bill sprinting after her. He burst into the warm sunlight, casting about for his prey and quickly catching her trail; she had slipped and slid her way down the slope and towards the beach. Dropping to all fours, Bill scrambled his way down the slope after her, seeing Hermione running for the cover of the dunes.

He let out a whoop of laughter, almost a yelp, grinning as she turned to look back at him. With another scream of laughter she changed direction, heading towards the dunes closer to the sea, where footing would be easier. Bill began to run after her, keeping to the slightly harder packed sand near the cliff and making better progress. He gained on her steadily, keeping to the high ground and running hard.

He was laughing, his chest hurting as he ran and all his tension leaking away. He felt the wind in his hair and the burning acid in his legs, the thrill of the chase and the anticipation of the catch. He had never felt like this, never this free. It had been a long time since he had laughed so hard.

A half buried log, an old bit of driftwood, caught his foot and he fell head over heels, down the dune, kicking up sand and marram grass as he went. He caught sight of Hermione shift her angle and escape up another slope, away from him. He eventually rolled to a halt at the bottom of the dune, momentarily dazed, unsure which way was up or even where the sea was.

An ululating cry momentarily chilled his bones as he righted himself, flipping onto his back. He stared up in shock, his eyes flash blinded by the burning sun. A dark shadow filled his vision, bushy fly-away hair surrounding the figure’s head and a large tuft of dune grass clutched in their hands.

Bill tried to roll but was too slow and Hermione brought the large clump down on Bill’s stomach, showering him with sand and making him cough and splutter. Dropping the remainder of the grass on Bill’s head, Hermione gave another cry – almost a howl – and leapt onto the older man’s chest, pinning him to the ground.

Her fingers dug into his ribs, tickling him without mercy and riding his body with ease. His laughter was hampered by the clump of grass covering his face and he was struggling to fight the tenacious little witch off. Blinded by the grass he reached out and grabbed her, rolling her over and taking the dominant position above her, his body pressing her into the sand, her knees gripping his hips. He shook his head wildly, flicking sand in all directions, hearing Hermione’s laughter, feeling her giggles through his hands.

Hermione didn’t struggle to get away. She was laughing too hard to put up any form of real defence against Bill’s superior strength and weight. She shook her head, flicked sand from her face; her arms rested over her head, her eyes closed against the intensity of the sun. The skin on her neck and face was smooth and glistened slightly in the sunlight. Her sweat smelled fresh and sweet to his nostrils as she breathed heavily from their running. Her eyes opened and looked up at his, her pupils dilated. She smiled, one hand lifting to hold his arm, the other resting on his chest.

Bill felt his heart pounding at her touch, his breathing rapid and shallow from more than his run. Something inside him surged forward, a primal feeling flooding his senses. Something in his thoughts must have been visible in his eyes as Hermione reacted as if pulled towards him, her legs tugging at him a little.

The witch’s eyes widened momentarily and she seemed to lean upwards a fraction. Her hand gripped his shoulder tighter and her breath left her in a rush. “Bill…” she whispered, as the red-head heard a low rumble in his chest. The soft growl vibrated through Hermione’s hand, her lips parted, her tongue visible between them, soft and pink.

Bill leant forward, pressing his body firmly into hers and she reacted, pulling him in, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck. The moment his lips met hers Bill felt something inside him howl in triumph. A feeling of completion swept tantalizingly close as his mouth devoured hers, her tongue meeting his and fighting for control. Her hands tangled in his hair and pulled him deeper and he could feel her desperation, her need; it mirrored his own and he wanted her completely, every part of her.

The kiss lasted a lifetime, both of them clinging to each other, their bodies surrounded by the sand and the sound of the waves on the shore. They were unaware of anything, only this moment into which they sank willingly. Bill’s hand slipped under Hermione’s t-shirt, feeling her soft skin, warm and supple, beneath him.

Her sigh urged him on as he cupped a breast, his fingers moving over the decorative lace of her bra. He could feel her nipple, solid and eager, pressing through the thin material and a heat built in his groin. He could feel Hermione’s hands, pulling at his shirt, stroking over the skin of his back. Her moan of pleasure, as he pinched her nipple through the fabric, spurred him on and the feel of her mouth on his throat set his blood afire. One hand moved down, reaching for her waistband, wild thoughts of taking her here and now, claiming her at last, flooding his mind.

 “Hermione? Bill? Where are you guys?”

The sound of Harry’s voice brought them back to reality with a rush. He was calling for them, no doubt wondering where they were.

Anger swept over Bill, a brush fire racing over flammable ground, devouring his sense in a flash. He could feel his muscles bunching, ready to attack the person who had intruded upon him and his mate, ready to kill if needed. A red mist descended over his eyes and coherent thought began to recede.

He became aware that he was walking, struggling towards the cottage, dragging a heavy weight behind him, something that resisted him and held him back. He didn’t know when he had stood up; his thoughts were clouded and slipped away like water. He slowly became aware of a voice, calling his name, tears and fear audible in its tone: Hermione.

 “Bill, stop! Bill, please!” she sobbed, shuddering with relief as he abruptly stopped and turned back towards her. She placed her hands on his chest as he looked at her, barely recognising her for a moment.

Slowly the fog lifted from his eyes and the tension leaked away, draining through his chest as he stared into her terrified eyes. Abruptly he grabbed her hands, kissing them and pulling her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her.

 “Oh, Bill,” she whispered into his chest, her words barely audible, “I thought…”

 “It’s okay, Hermione,” he said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry. I’m okay now.”

 “What was that all about?” she asked, louder now, pushing away from him and staring up into his face.

Bill shrugged, looking away guiltily from the tears in her eyes; he barely remembered any of it, only the white hot rage that had flowed through his heart. “It’s gone now. I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said again, taking her hands.

 “ _There_ you are!” called Harry, behind and above the pair. Bill turned to gaze up at the young man, noting his surprise when he saw Hermione’s hands wrapped in Bill’s. Harry’s hair hung limply around his ears and his clothes were darkened, still wet from his earlier soaking. He held up his hands and backed away, disappearing behind the dune again.

 “Come on,” Bill said, looking back towards Hermione, “let’s go back in.”

She nodded but remained quiet, wrapped in her own thoughts, stepping away from him. She ignored his outstretched hand and walked past the older man, hugging herself, her eyes clouded.

Bill watched her go, wondering at their earlier passion. What did it mean for him and Fleur? Where did they go from here? He shook his head: he truly didn’t know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lemon warning!**

He still didn’t know several hours later, when he was getting ready for bed that night. Fleur had sent her Patronus to advise everyone that she would be staying away for the night; the groceries were heavier than anticipated and she couldn’t get help until the morning. At least she was safe, Bill thought to himself and then paused, vaguely surprised at that thought. Why wouldn’t she be safe? Was she with another man? He shook his head, freeing it from the undue concern, as he tapped the shower with his wand to start it flowing. He should trust her.

It still surprised him that the bathroom in this tiny little cottage hadn’t fallen apart with the amount of traffic it got now. The pale blue walls, decorated with natural shells and bits of coral, helped to relax the mind. It always reminded him of the sea on a calm day. The small window looked out onto the ocean and Bill gave a small grunt of laughter; it was anything but calm out there at the moment.

The wind had been whipping the sea into froth all evening. Black storm clouds filled the evening sky, blotting what little sun there had been. This storm had blown in quickly, soon after he and Hermione had returned to the cottage after their… run. The weather had begun to turn cold too, chilling the air and attempting to rob the occupants of Shell Cottage of their memories of the momentary warmth they had experienced.

But they had refused to be cowed by mere weather patterns!

Bill smiled in memory of the fun they had all had together that afternoon. They had played games, running through the cottage and attacking each other with pillows, at one point going as far as trying to entice Griphook into joining them in a game of cards; two decks and all seven of them trying to cram into the tiny space, for an hour or two. Griphook had refused to join them and had quickly left which Bill had been secretly pleased about. Ron was not so subtle in his pleasure at the goblin’s refusal to play.

 “Anti-social little git,” he had muttered, before breathing a sigh of relief under his breath and smiling in Hermione’s direction. The bushy haired witch had smiled back at her friend, hiding it quickly behind her hand and looking away.

There had been no problems when Bill and Hermione had returned to the cottage earlier. Harry had kept quiet about what he had seen, though he had taken Hermione to one side for a quiet chat at one point, while Ron and Bill had been peeling potatoes for dinner. Bill’s sharp hearing had picked up both his and Ron’s names at one point but the conversation never seemed heated or aggressive in anyway. It had all the hallmarks of a man making sure his best friend was okay and happy. Bill had watched them hug and had to step hard on the prickle of jealousy that crept through his mind.

The other boys… men, he corrected himself – considering what they had all been through it would be foolish to think of any of the occupants as less than adult – had all finished their own ablutions that evening and were settling down in the sitting room. He could sometimes hear Harry, Dean and Ron talking quietly to each other late at night, though he couldn’t make out the words.

He turned, ready to strip and get into the shower, when he realised he had forgotten a towel. Cursing himself quietly he crept back into his room to hunt through the cupboard for a fresh towel.

A few minutes later he dragged his clothes off, leaving them in a heap by the bed and wrapped the large towel around himself. He stuck his head out of the room and, seeing the corridor was clear, he slipped across into the bathroom. Closing the door after himself, he slid the bolt home to lock it. The shower was still running and Bill dropped his towel and dragged the curtain back.

Hermione gave a startled scream and desperately tried to cover herself, staring at Bill in horror.

Bill could only stare back, hand still clutching the shower curtain, momentarily dumbstruck.

 “Bill… I… I, um,” Hermione stammered, her face burning red as she looked at Bill, soapy bubbles running down her body, “I thought Ron had left the shower running… so I just jumped in! I’m sorry, Bill! I’ll... I'll go…” She moved as if to get out of the shower, still trying to cover herself and failing to do either very well.

Bill couldn’t keep his eyes on her face and could feel his body responding to her nakedness, her fear and embarrassment, the bubbles that slipped and slid their way down her wet skin. It was an intoxicating mix that played through his body, making it respond in obvious ways. Without a word he extended his arms outwards, blocking her egress and meeting her eyes squarely.

 “Bill,” she whispered, shrinking back, away from the intensity in his eyes, “what… what are you doing.”

Silently Bill stepped into the bath, drawing the curtain closed behind him. In the confined space of the bath he could feel her tremble, her soft body just inches from his, nothing but air separating their flesh.

 “Hermione.” His voice was tight, filled with lust and need. He watched her eyes drop downwards and then flick back up, blinking rapidly in embarrassment. He could feel that he was hard and ready; the hot water flowing over his body was stimulating his skin and heating his blood still further.

Hermione moaned slightly as her back pressed against the cool tiles around the bath. Bill watched a collection of bubbles work their way down the smaller witch’s cleavage, disappearing between her breasts.

 “I need you, Hermione,” Bill said, moving closer, his hands pressing against the tiles, either side of her head, his face dipping to bring his lips just above the skin on her throat. He could see the pulse in her neck leaping and fancied he could hear her heart racing. He felt one of her hands press against his chest and he looked down, unable to help himself. Her arm still covered her breasts but, beyond the creamy flesh, he could see the rise of her pubis, the wet hair between her legs just tantalisingly visible and his cock erect and throbbing painfully.

Her hand lifted his face to look into her eyes once more; her other hand remained on his chest, ever so gently holding him at bay. He desperately wanted to see her breasts, knowing that they were exposed now, but she held his chin firmly.

 “What do you mean, Bill? _Why_ do you need me? What _is_ this?” she demanded. Her eyes were intense and hard, looking for answers to help her process what had happened earlier and what was happening now.

 “I’ve wanted you,” he said, “for a long time; since the World Cup in ’94. You’re amazing and intelligent and so very beautiful… there is something inside me, the wolf that is growing in my heart, which _needs_ you. It needs you, like a library needs books to make it complete. But I _want_ you, Hermione.” His hand cupped her cheek, heard her sigh and felt her press herself against his hand slightly. “I want you the way a man wants a woman, the way a lover wants his partner.”

Her hands moved, fingers lightly tracing over his face, moving through to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, her breathing faster now. Her breasts touched lightly upon his chest as she arched her back slightly and her teeth delicately bit on her lip. Her eyes were dilated and large with desire. One leg lifted to rest on the edge of the bath, pressing against his own leg, a subtle invitation.

Bill pushed himself closer, feeling his hardness press against her. He caressed her raised leg gently, delighting in the feel of her warm skin beneath his hand. He cupped a breast with his other hand, his thumb stroking firmly over the erect nipple. Hermione bucked slightly and Bill felt her moan of pleasure rumble in her throat as he pressed his lips against her neck, her heartbeat fluttering wildly.

 “Oh, Bill,” she whispered, “I will not be a one time thing for you. Get that clear now! You and Fleur… you need to end it properly. I want your word that you will, or this ends now.”

Bill nodded, seeing the strength and fire in her eyes. She was a powerful witch and the wolf inside him howled his approval. “I will, Hermione. My mind is so clear and I see now what she’s being doing to me. Away from her spell, with you, I am more aware and happier than I have been for a long, long time…”

The sudden knock at the door made them both start in shock. Luna’s voice echoed in the small room as she called through the keyhole. “Hurry up, please! Some of us want to wash the sand off before the Trixi-bells use it to make a home in my socks!”

 “Occupied!” yelled Bill, huskily; at the precise same moment that Hermione shouted, “In a minute, Luna!”

They stared at each other in shock, hearing Luna’s gentle giggle in the hall outside. A spoken word, muffled by the door, was the only sound from outside the room but the occupants of the bathroom heard a strange buzzing noise. It rapidly filled the air before fading into the background and Bill felt Hermione laugh; she smiled at his quizzical look.

 “You and Fleur… it ends, as soon as possible,” she said, suddenly serious again, “and it ends completely! Understood?” She held his hair, pulling it tightly to emphasise her point and Bill nodded his agreement. “I love Luna, sometimes,” Hermione declared. Refusing to elaborate she pulled Bill’s face up and claimed his mouth with hers.

Blood pounded in Bill’s ears as he wrapped his arms around the delicate witch, tucking her into his embrace and crushing her body to his. Her hands ran over him, her legs parting around his, gripping him with her thighs as she pulled at his shoulders. A low keening sound burst from her throat as Bill pressed his erection against her mound. His lips pulled at her throat as he kissed his way down her body, his hands trailing gentle patterns down her back.

His mouth captured one erect nipple, his lips pulling at it as Hermione arched forward, pressing it deeper into his mouth. His tongue flicked over it, pressed it, circled it. His teeth gently gripped the delicate bud, his wet tongue continuing its ministrations as he gripped her slick buttocks in his large hands. His fingers slipped inwards, stroking across her outer lips and parting them slightly, allowing the hot water to flow across her inner labia.

Hermione lifted a leg, granting him easier access and he stroked his fingers across her opening, massaging her clit gently as he continued to lave her nipples, one then the other with his mouth, her hands tangled in his hair and holding him close. His middle finger slipped inside, his thumb rubbing against her clitoris; the ball of flesh was like electric beneath his touch and she cried out louder, gripped his hair tighter.

Before long she was urging him further, her hands sliding down to pull at his hips and opening her legs wider. “Take me, Bill… please,” she moaned, her fingernails digging into the flesh of his buttocks. “I need you!” Her teeth bit at his neck, delicately tasting his skin with her tongue.

 “Hermione,” Bill said, pausing despite her words of encouragement, “are you sure?” The water continued to flow over them, the pressure ensuring the water stimulated their skin and kept it sensitive to every touch.

 “You invade my shower, turn me on and finger me… and then ask me that?” she asked, seemingly annoyed.

Bill smiled, pressing the head of his cock against her opening and watching the lust in her eyes flare. “I didn’t know if… if you were… uh, still a…”

 “No, I’m not,” Hermione growled, desperately fighting against Bill’s strength, trying to sink herself onto his shaft, “not for a while now. Now, please… Bill!” The wait seemed to be causing her physical pain and Bill relented at her words, pushing forward as she pressed downwards to meet him.

 “Oh, and technically… this is my shower that you invaded,” he whispered. As she opened her mouth to speak he slid into her smoothly – her gasp was loud in the small room and devolved into a moan. Immediately she lifted her legs, wrapping them completely around Bill’s waist. She began to move against him, pulling herself up and down on his cock, sighing with delight at each movement. Bill pressed her against the tiles, moving them both a little so that the water cascaded over them. It was like having sex under a waterfall and the added stimulus was clearly having the desired effect on Hermione. Her mouth hung open, her head leant back against the tiles and her breasts bounced in time.

Bill’s thrusts began to increase in speed and he could feel his orgasm coming already. He raked his tongue across one nipple as it bounced into range of his mouth, supporting her wholly with one arm underneath her buttocks, the other hand dipping between them to press a thumb against her swollen clit.

Her cries became more urgent and Bill momentarily worried about the other occupants of the cottage; they must be able to hear this, but the moment was fleeting indeed as his balls seemed to clench. Her cries spurred him to greater efforts, thrusting harder into her, feeling her grip him tightly with her inner muscles.

She met his eyes, gasping for breath and nodding her head. She bit her lip and her eyes became glazed; a cry of pure pleasure – a keening ululation, low in her throat – burst from her and Bill felt Hermione’s nails dig hard into his shoulder.

The added pain and the feeling of her muscles, gripping him in waves as the beautiful witch continued to tremble with the after effects of her orgasm, sent him over the edge. His cock pulsed and trembled within her hot centre and Bill heard her voice, almost chanting in his ear, repeating one word, like a mantra. “Yes, yes, yes, yes…” over and over. He could hear his own cry now, as his cock twitched and shot spurt after spurt of hot liquid into Hermione’s waiting pussy. His voice rose, almost to a howl and his mouth clamped onto the witch’s shoulder, sucking at the flesh.

The urge to bite was strong, almost unbearable. He had never felt this urge with Fleur, never felt such a strong urge to bite her. Was this the wolf within again? Was this what Lupin had spoken of, told him that he wouldn’t have to worry about it? His teeth were bared, the flesh already between his teeth before he knew it.

With difficulty Hermione dragged his head away, her fingers pulling his hair, painfully, his teeth slipping away from her neck and clacking together on air. She stared into his eyes and a message silently passed between them.

No.

It was a simple message but Bill was not sure how much Hermione understood about the bite, what it meant: knowing Hermione though, probably more than he did! He nodded again, acknowledging her command even as he glanced guiltily at her shoulder, the angry red mark and indentation of his teeth bright on her pale skin. He pulled her head to his shoulder, keeping his mouth away from her flesh. They continued to move slowly against each other, each riding out the waves of pleasure that followed their orgasm.

After a while, Hermione unwrapped herself from Bill’s waist and stood once more, in the bath. She rested her head against the tiles and stared into Bill’s eyes. Softly the red-head pressed his lips against hers, a soft and tender kiss that she returned with a beautiful smile, her eyes clear and soft once more.

 “Bath time’s never been this much fun, before,” she whispered against his mouth.

He returned her smile and the pair spent the next few minutes gently washing each other, experiencing each other’s body in a different way – strangely, a slightly more intimate way, Bill thought to himself. The soap bubbles, sliding over Hermione’s skin, made delightful tracks that Bill couldn’t help but follow with his mouth.

Hermione laughed and fended him off. “Come on, Bill,” she said, smiling up at him, “we’ve been in here for ages. My skin’s getting wrinkly.” She screwed her nose up at her palm showing him the shrivelled skin on her fingers.

Together they stepped out of the bath, Bill tapping the shower to stop the flow of water. They dried off in silence, Bill lost in his own thoughts, Hermione presumably thinking her own.

 “Hermione,” the flame haired man started, but the witch interrupted.

 “I can’t stay with you tonight, Bill,” she shook her head sadly. “What we did… As much fun as it was, as much as I wanted it... I feel guilty... You’re still engaged, Bill. That needs to be resolved first, and _then_ we can sort ourselves out.”

Bill smiled at her and pulled her in for a kiss. “As soon as she’s back, I’ll talk to her. Then you can stay with me.”

Hermione was again shaking her head before he finished his sentence. She stood before him, wrapped in her towel, her hair tousled and already trying to return to its natural state. “I can’t stay here any longer than another day or so. Harry, Ron and I… we have to leave, very soon.”

Bill sighed; he had known this was coming, really. He knew that Hermione wouldn’t have stayed behind with him ever since he spoke to Harry to warn him about goblins. He repeated his warning to Hermione, emphasising that she mustn’t trust Griphook, to be prepared for treachery.

She smiled and kissed him gently. Without another word she turned and unlocked the door. “Goodnight, Bill,” she whispered, slipping out into the corridor.

Bill remained behind for a while. His damp hair hung around his shoulders and the towel was wrapped around his waist. For several minutes he simply stared at the floor, re-examining the last hour, the last _day_ , in his mind. So much had happened, it seemed mad that it was only contained in twenty four hours! He eventually went to bed, but couldn’t sleep for a long time, caught up as he was in trying to work out what he would say to Fleur. The sea eventually lulled him to sleep though it was fitful and filled with strange and half remembered dreams.

He was tired and irritable when he woke. Even more so, when was told at the breakfast table by Harry that he, Ron and Hermione would be leaving tomorrow, before dawn. He tried to get Hermione alone for the whole morning, just to try and speak to her, to try and dissuade her. She was elusive, shut up in the smallest room with Harry and Ron, as they had been for the last few weeks.

Fleur returned just before lunchtime, loaded down with parcels and food and the tiny cottage became a small military camp, with his fiancé ordering everyone around. She had a sour look on her face the whole time and Bill knew that it was the right thing he was planning.

He slipped out of bed, later that night, catching Hermione alone on the stairs. Harry and Ron were already outside, Griphook waiting for the young witch in the sitting room. Bill stared at Hermione for a moment and she shifted, self-consciously.

 “Those… are not your normal robes, Hermione,” he said, quietly, taking in the black, flowing robes, lace at the cuffs and hem, the strange symbols stitched into the bodice. “Those are the sort of robes that a pure-blood would wear, a rich one at that; Fleur’s mother has a white set just like them.”

 “No questions, Bill,” she whispered back, “please?”

He nodded, unhappy but accepting that she knew best her path from here. He hoped that, whatever they were up to, they would return in one piece and he would get the chance to see her again, to hold her and love her.

 “Be careful, Hermione, okay? No, I know you can’t tell me,” he said, forestalling her when she tried to speak, “I just want you back in one, beautiful piece.” He wrapped her in a gentle hug, feeling her arms encircle him too.

 “Bye, Bill,” she whispered, her voice husky with her tears. “Good luck.”

 “You too.”

She vanished downstairs and Bill returned to his room, slipping back into bed without waking Fleur. He stared at the ceiling until the sun came up, unable to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

For the whole length of the journey, Bill had been stewing over the inevitable meeting. He knew he should be more concerned over the fact that Voldemort was going to be attacking Hogwarts and that any or all of them could die. He found that he fancied his chances more against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named than Hermione Granger.

He glanced at the woman walking at his side. The brass lamps hung along the earthen walls shone enough light for him to see but her hood was drawn up, hiding her face; only some of her blonde hair peeked out at the edges. She radiated a cold aloofness and hadn’t said a word since they had left the Hogs Head: the greeting she had received from the couple that walked ahead of them had not helped the atmosphere.

Bill’s parents, Molly and Arthur, strode ahead, down the tunnel that could have been here for decades rather than only a few months. Mr Weasley had been barely civil to Bill’s fiancé and Mrs Weasley had made no secret of her displeasure at seeing the French witch again.

Bill determined to smack Charlie around the head, next time he saw him. His brother was the only one he had told about Hermione, writing to him from Shell Cottage and telling him everything; the hardest part had been admitting that Charlie had been right about it all. Once Harry, Ron and Hermione had left, taking Griphook with them, there was only Luna and Dean left. During the day after Hermione’s departure, Luna had kept casting subtle – and not so subtle – looks Bill’s way and he started to get angry, going so far as taking her to one side and asking her what her game was.

 “I could ask you the same, William Weasley,” she said, her head cocked to one side and that familiar, serene smile on her face. Her large eyes stared into the flame-haired man’s own and he began to feel uncomfortable in their gaze. “You don’t strike me as the cowardly sort, normally. It’s a shame your inner fire has been stepped on.”

 “And what’s that supposed to mean, Luna?” he snapped, casting a furtive glance towards the kitchen, where Fleur was cooking lunch. “What do you expect me to do?”

Her smile was infuriating and he found himself growling. Luna was not fazed at all, merely smiling wider. “You sound like a wolf!” she declared, brightly. “It’s a shame you act more like her lap dog.”

Bill had watched her skip off towards the garden, his mouth hanging open in stunned silence. In truth he couldn’t fault her words. Despite his promise to Hermione, his letter to Charlie, his determination that he would end the engagement, he had done none of it. Fleur had swamped his mind the second she had woken up and, even though he now recognised the Veela influence for what it was, he couldn’t think clearly around her. His window of opportunity closed rapidly.

After Dean and Luna had left, travelling to Hogwarts to join the rest of the students, Bill had received an owl from his mother, asking him to meet them in Hogsmeade. It was obvious to Bill that his parents knew some of what was happening in his life but he desperately hoped they knew nothing about Hermione.

Behind the Weasleys and Fleur walked four, former Hogwarts students; Oliver Wood, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson. Leading the way through the tunnel was the tall, dark-skinned Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin, Bill’s mentor of sorts. Bill had tried to speak to Remus but the older man had simply shaken his head, managing to convey disappointment with only his eyes.

_Did everyone know?_ Bill fumed, silently

They soon arrived at the end of the tunnel, spilling out into the large room and joining the army of students that packed the chamber. Bill looked around, desperate to see her but nervous all the same. He knew she would be more than disappointed in him and he couldn’t stand to see that in her eyes, but this might be his last chance to see her.

A short time later and with no sign of Hermione, Bill stood in the Room of Requirement still, watching his mum make a fuss of Percy. Bill felt a tap on his shoulder and, turning, he saw Luna, walking up the stairs behind him, beckoning with a finger.

He ducked out of the room, following the blonde girl up the stairs. Reaching the top he found her stood, waiting for him with her back to him, hands clasped behind her. She rocked gently on her heels, gazing at the ceiling.

 “What is it, Luna,” Bill hissed, “I need to stay with my family.”

 “Who’s in your family, Bill?” she asked, dreamily.

Bill opened and shut his mouth a few times, a vague idea of what she was about to say coming to him.

 “Because I’m sure there’s someone downstairs that, you promised someone else, would be gone by now.”

 “If Fleur wants to help out, then who am I to stop her? Don’t we need all the magic we can bring to bear? Fleur offered and I accepted,” he blustered.

The witch turned, slowly, and Bill glared into her large eyes. For the first time, in all his time of dealing with Luna, he saw something in those bright blue pools that made him take a half step back. Her face was still smiling; her expression serene, but the smile did not reach her eyes. There was a light in them now; a light that made the wolf inside him crouch and almost roll over.

She stepped closer to him and rested a gentle hand on his cheek. “Lie to me, Bill,” she whispered, and her smile vanished, leaving her expression suddenly cold and dark. “Lie to me, just one more time.”

Bill remained silent, swallowing to try and fight the strange tension in his chest. Luna’s dark eyes were vortexes, snagging his soul and chilling his blood. Where had this woman come from? Happy and slightly strange Luna Lovegood was gone, in her place a powerful witch that froze Bill to the marrow. He fought the urge to lie on the floor and expose his belly.

 “Take control. Reclaim the ring. Leave her. It’s over. Four little phrases and actions, Bill, and if you fail to do all of them now, then only the last will be true, and I can’t help you.” She tapped her bare wrist, as if she wore a watch, and then held it up to Bill’s face. “Time’s almost up, Bill.”

She patted the older man on the cheek and stepped away, her smile returning as if it had never left her face. If anything the sudden return of her bright, cheerful countenance was more terrifying for the red-head.

 “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I’ll lend you one of my dirigible plum earrings. My dad says they enhance the wearer’s wisdom.” She unhooked the unusual jewellery, placing it Bill’s hand with a bright, vague smile. She then turned and skipped down the corridor, catching up with Dean Thomas, waiting for her by the door at the end of the corridor. Luna took the dark skinned boy’s hand and they disappeared through the door together.

Bill sighed and looked, doubtfully, at the strange, radish-like thing in his hand. Couldn’t hurt, he reasoned to himself with a shrug and swiftly swapped his fang earring, before turning to go back down and get it over with. As he turned he saw Fred, George and Percy, running up the stairs, Fleur behind them with his mum and dad bringing up the rear.

 “Well done, Bill!” called George. “Leading from the front!”

 “Can’t wait to get at the Death Eaters, can he?” yelled Fred as he ran past.

 “Like the earring, bro!” George said with a laugh, turning to run backwards and nudging Fred, a huge grin on his face. “Fruity!”

Fred turned to look, his eyes wide with laughter when he saw the earring. He didn’t speak, _couldn’t_ speak, wracked as he was by a sudden fit of the giggles.

Percy rolled his eyes and made as if to slow and speak to Bill. The older man shook his head slightly, nodding for him to continue but he held out his hand as Percy ran by, the brothers sharing a brief handshake of reconciliation. His younger brothers ran on and Bill pulled Fleur to one side, watching as his mother and father trotted by; the slight smile on his mother’s face annoyed him, even as he knew she supported his decision.

 “What is it, Bill?” Fleur said, annoyed. “Ze battle is about to start and I will not be seen skulking down ‘ere. If you wish to wear women’s jewellery, tuck your tail and run, zen do it!” Her face was twisted in bitterness and anger; in part, Bill thought, because he had done nothing to defend his fiancé from his own family’s rudeness and dismissive words.

 “Fleur, we have to talk,” he began, determined to do this now while there was still a chance of dealing with things before he saw Hermione again. Already he could feel the familiar fog closing in on his mind as it did whenever he stood near Fleur. Pushing and fighting through it he took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak.

 “No time for that, Bill,” called Harry, angrily, dashing up the stairs, wand drawn, “too damn late, now. Voldemort’s at the gates!”

They ran then, heading for the Great Hall, joining the rest of the family. Bill kept an eye out but there was still no sign of Hermione. He began to get worried; concerned that something had happened to her. Before long though the battle was joined and there was barely any time to spare for Hermione anymore. There was only time to duel and survive. A few times in the melee he thought he caught sight of a head of bushy hair, but try as he might, he couldn’t get to her side. And all the time, Fleur stuck to him like glue.

At first he was annoyed at her presence, a reminder that he had unfinished business when he needed to keep focused. Soon though, Fleur had saved his life a few times. He didn’t know what it was but he head felt stuffed with cotton wool and it was affecting his magic.

 “You are lucky I am ‘ere, Bill,” Fleur declared at one point, blocking a curse meant for him, “without me you would be dead already! You are duelling like a school child, not a warrior!”

Her face was set in an expression of disgust at his failings and Bill felt his heart twist in grief for disappointing her. Shaking himself he determined to make her proud and threw himself into the battle, fighting with strength and determination until, abruptly, there came a lull in the fighting. The air was filled with Voldemort’s voice, reverberating through the air, calling them brave, commanding his forces to withdraw and giving Harry one hour to give himself up.

All around the combatants slumped, watching the Death Eaters withdraw as quickly as they had arrived. None tried to stop them, no other spells were cast. Silence fell upon Hogwarts.

And then a wail of terrible pain brought the wolf inside Bill on the defensive again. The red-head felt his hackles rise and he spun about looking for the danger.

He first saw his mother, running as if her life depended upon it, her face twisted in terrible grief. Numbly, his heart pounding in fear, Bill turned to watch his mother run, seeing his father close behind. He saw Percy, covered in brick dust, his face and clothes cut. George walked beside him, his pale complexion whiter than Bill had ever seen him, his face stained with tears.

His vision tunnelled until he could only see the man in George’s arms though.

 “Fred…” he whispered, unable to comprehend, unwilling to believe what he was seeing. “No. No, no, no!” Running forward now he joined his family, supporting George as the exhausted man’s legs buckled. Arthur and Molly caught Fred, lifting him gently out of George’s arms and bearing him into the Great Hall.

 “Bill,” George whispered, “is… is he…?”

Bill shook his head, lifting his younger brother up, feeling Percy get the other side and help him half carry George into the Great Hall. He just didn’t know, hadn’t been able to tell from the fleeting glance he had gotten, whether his brother lived or not. They found the rest of the family, all except Ron, stood at the far end. Fred lay before them and Madam Pomfrey crouched beside him, her wand glowing as she checked him over.

Bill and Percy helped George to sit, the stunned and almost catatonic man obeying without resistance. Bill turned… and there she was.

Hermione, Harry and Ron, walked into the Great Hall looking as battle weary as everyone else. While Harry paused in the doorway, seemingly stunned at the injured he saw, Ron came forward to join his family, receiving a comforting hug from Percy.

Hermione met Bill’s eyes for a moment and then they flicked over his shoulder and he knew that Fleur had moved to stand close behind him. The pain in the bushy haired witch’s eyes stabbed into his heart like a Killing Curse. Without another look she moved towards Ginny, gathering the sobbing witch into her arms.

Beyond Hermione and Ginny, a flash of blonde caught Bill’s eye and he saw Luna stood in the centre of the hall. She met his eye, lifted one arm to head height and tapped her wrist with the index finger of her other hand. People walked in front of her, momentarily hiding her from Bill’s sight and, when they had passed and the way was clear once more, the strange witch was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

He staggered down the street, casting furtive glances over his shoulder at the sky. The night sky was clouded, much as it had been, nearly four months ago, when he had stood upon a cliff top and talked about the state of his soul with the woman he loved. This time however a fine mist of rain fell, giving everything a sheen of water in the harsh street lights.

The beast snarled inside him, desperate to escape his control and run riot, much as it had last month. The full moon was near; he could feel it in his heart, in the savage pounding and surging of his blood.

Reaching his destination at last, he climbed the worn steps. Approaching the battered door he pushed the button set on the wall beside it. Rather than the harsh, clanging bell that he remembered, there was a delicate tinkle from deep inside the large house.

A familiar silhouette appeared on the other side of the frosted glass and Harry Potter opened the door to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, formerly the stronghold of the Order of the Phoenix. The dirty and neglected house had been redecorated and repaired over the last few months by Harry and Kreacher, restored to glory. The décor throughout had been renewed and reflected both its past and present owners. There were hints of the inimitable style of Harry’s lover, creeping in as well in the grainy, unfocused pictures of strange creatures that could be seen hung along the hallway walls. Unusual decorations hung from the high ceiling, crystals and natural wooden sculptures, no doubt designed to stop imaginary creatures from entering.

 “Bill!” Harry said in surprise, taking in the older man’s dishevelled appearance and tired expression. “Merlin’s beard, it’s really you! Come in, come in!” The young man beckoned the red-head in, leading him through to the kitchen and pushing him down onto a chair in front of the fire.

Bill tried to stand, protesting that he couldn’t stay but Harry would hear none of it.

 “Not a chance, Bill,” he said, his hand on the older man’s shoulder, “no-one’s seen you in over two months! Your family’s been going nuts over at the Burrow. Where the hell have you been?”

Bill stared at Harry in surprise. “Has it been that long? What about that meal we all had together?”

Harry sat down with a thump, shaking his head. “Bill, that was at the beginning of June! It’s August now!”

The wolf inside Bill snarled, pacing back and forth inside his mind, agitated and feeling confined. It was the time of the moon, it was time to run. “I need… to speak to Hermione…” His breath was catching in his chest, a strange constriction making it hard for him to breathe.

Harry stood abruptly. “Hermione, crap! Yes, wait here! She’s been worried sick abou…” He cut off suddenly, sounding as if he had swallowed his tongue.

Bill felt her – actually felt her, like a physical touch – as she walked into the room. He suddenly felt serene, almost like a calming draught was slipping down his throat. The pain in his chest gradually eased and he felt the wolf subside, almost as if it had quietened. It lay, waiting for something.

Harry started to speak but then stopped, backing away a little.

She spoke and Bill’s heart sang just to hear her voice again. “Bill,” she said, her tone clipped, annoyed. The red-head could sense a note of something else in her voice though and he stood, turning to face her at last.

She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered. Her hair was controlled, pulled back in a ponytail to keep it out of her eyes. Her make up, despite the lateness of the day, was perfect. The simple loose, white blouse and faded blue jeans made her look like an angel to Bill’s eyes. She was incredible and Bill began to feel more alive than he had in weeks.

 “Hermione, I…”

 “I think we said everything that needed to be said, back at Hogwarts, Bill,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “I have no wish to rehash the past. I will get you your potion and you can leave, immediately.”

 “Hermione, please,” he tried again, but Hermione turned and stalked away.

What could he do to make this right? Bill felt his head droop and looked towards Harry, desperation in his eyes but the younger man was no longer alone.

Beside him stood Luna and Bill took an automatic half step back, expecting those eyes to be filled with that terrible anger. But they weren’t. Luna stepped towards him and gently took his hand, staring up into his eyes. The big blue pools were clear, filled only with a peaceful calm.

 “Bill, why are you here?” she asked, quietly.

 “I… I need my potion…” he stammered, half glancing towards Harry. The bespectacled man was stern and unyielding, giving nothing away in his stance or expression.

 “Is that all, Bill?” Her voice was almost hypnotic and Bill felt his eyes drawn back to hers, held there, almost mesmerised by the blonde witch. “Are you only here for your potion? No-one came last month. How did that feel, now that things have progressed further?”

 “Luna, I… I couldn’t…”

 “You couldn’t fight a Veela? I know, Bill. Few people can, not when they use their gift as a weapon directly, rather than it just being a general sphere of attraction. Not many people know what it is like to go head to head with a Veela. People need talismans to ward off their charm, and you had one. You just didn’t use it.”

 “Hermione…” he breathed in understanding.

Luna nodded, a genuine smile appearing on her face. “Go to her, Bill. Tell her everything. You’ve been hidden from us for a while now. You’ve always held back before but you don’t have to anymore, not with her.”

Bill gave a fierce grin, kissing Luna’s hands, and turned to chase Hermione up the stairs. He clattered his way up the staircase, the wood all smooth and tidy instead of the old, battered steps from the days of the War. The deep red carpet on the stairs was soft and clean, its gold thread pattern reflecting the light that filled the stairwell; such a difference to the depressing gloom of days gone by.

He took the stairs three at a time, calling Hermione’s name as he went. He paused on the landing, staring up and down the corridor before seeing a flicker of shadow from the corner of his eye, leading his gaze up to the next floor. Over the sound of his heart beat he heard a door close with rather more force than necessary and he sprinted upwards, reaching the second floor and pushing open the door in front of him

Inside Bill was momentarily reminded of Professor Snape’s dungeon laboratory at Hogwarts. On almost every wall there were books – shelves upon shelves of books – stacked to the ceiling, in all the shades of the rainbow and beyond. Between the bookshelves were various implements for potion making, stacks of parchment and various creatures that sat in their cages, quietly gazing at the controlled chaos in the room.

Bill saw, in the centre of the room, a large cauldron on a blue fire. The contents bubbled and slurped noisily, a faint purplish mist rising from the surface. Two large oaken desks, one on each side, framed the large iron pot; each was laden with glass tubes, beakers, jars, stirring implements and yet more books. One desk held a large apparatus that had many tubes that looped and curved, all connected in a complicated, symbiotic relationship. Pale pink condensate was collecting in a test tube at the far end of the apparatus, one drop at a time. At the other end a large beaker, filled with a red liquid, was clamped above a constant flame, and positioned below an inverted funnel that gathered the steam given off.

The room was hot and humid, the fire under the cauldron giving off a lot of heat. It was noisy in the room too; various liquids bubbling, the creatures in their cages chirping or growling occasionally, a large fan on the far wall rattling and turning, keeping the air moving.

The room was over twenty foot deep, from where Bill stood to the far wall, and stretched away, the length of the whole house, to the left and right. Doors had been taken out and the room expanded through the existing structure so that, other than narrowing points where old doors used to rest, the chamber was one long room.

As he looked around in amazement he began to see the various things that made the room Hermione’s own; photos of her family and friends, Crookshanks asleep by the cauldron, brightly coloured coverings on the chairs. The whole room spoke of efficiency, and precision whilst remaining inviting and comfortable, if a little warm.

He gave a start as a small bottle was slapped into his hand and Hermione stalked past him, heading deeper into the room. “You know how to take it, Bill. It’s been made stronger, as Fleur requested the last time I saw her. I don’t agree but… well, it’s your life,” she said bitterly.

 “Hermione, wait!” Bill placed the potion on a shelf next to the door and ran after the young witch as she walked into the next area.

After the heat and noise of the entrance chamber, this room was an oasis of calm and Bill could see that this was an area that Hermione probably retreated to, to read and think in peace. More books lined the walls with two large and overstuffed, navy blue fabric armchairs, set next to large, bright lamps. Each armchair had a large pale cream cushion and looked extremely comfortable.

On the far wall, Bill saw a poster that brought a slight smile to his face; it was a pencil drawing of a cartoon owl, swooping towards the viewer with its wings outstretched, talons poised. Facing the owl, stood on its hind legs, was a small mouse, one arm lifted in a two finger salute. Below the picture were the words: _When faced with complete disaster, total defiance is the only recourse!_

Hermione had stopped walking, facing the window on the other side of the room, her arms crossed. Bill studied her posture as he approached, seeing the slight slump of her shoulders that spoke of tiredness, coupled with the stiffness in her back that told of her determination not to give in yet. There was a tension in the knotted tendons of her neck and Bill knew that she was on the verge of an explosion. _Total defiance_ , he thought to himself with a wry grimace.

The closer he got to her, the clearer his head became once more. Before he had been feeling fuzzy minded, slow to react but now, standing within feet of Hermione, he could feel all that weariness and confusion melt away from him. His thoughts moved smoothly now and he knew that the last vestiges of Fleur’s influence was melting away.

 “Hermione,” he said, stepping up behind her, “can we talk?”

 “I kissed your brother,” she said suddenly, refusing to look at him.

 “I… what?” It was not what Bill had expected and his clear thoughts scattered.

 “Your brother, Ron… I…” She turned to look at him at last and Bill’s stomach clenched in sorrow at the tears he saw in her eyes as she looked at him. “I kissed Ron, Bill; during the Battle, back in May. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you at the time.” She looked away, moving towards the fire and staring into the dancing flames. “We were caught up in the moment… Ron suggested warning the House Elves so they could get out, he was trying to save them from getting killed… I was so surprised, not to mention impressed, by his thoughtfulness… I kissed him.” She looked up again, her back straightening, her posture slightly defensive. She turned to look at Bill, her eyes hard once more. “He’d been pining for me for years and, to one degree or another, I for him. But I didn’t see us lasting so it didn’t go any further after the Battle. It was a moment borne of stress and danger; we spoke and set it all to rights. I just wanted you to know.

 “As for us, you and I, I think we’ve already talked enough, Bill,” she said, her voice tight. “I think we said everything we had to say, after the battle. I think we are clear on where things stand.”

Bill opened his mouth to speak, stepping forward and lifting his arms as if to embrace the bushy-haired witch. She stepped back, a hand lifting to ward him off and Bill let his hands drop to his sides, his hands clenched, fingernails digging into his palms. The wolf inside him paced, hungry for the woman in front of him; no longer content to remain peaceful it strained against Bill’s control, keen to take her and make her his. Bill tightened his grip on his emotions, breathing deeply before speaking.

 “I love you, Hermione,” Bill began, seeing Hermione give a bitter laugh and look away from him, staring at the floor. “I do! I need you more than I’ve needed anyone in my life before. I tried to talk to… to her, many times. I tried to get out before it got out of control…”

 “You tried,” she whispered, looking into his eyes at last. Bill felt the wolf’s approval of this woman’s strength; the fire and anger in her eyes, the sarcasm in her voice as she spoke. “Did you, really? How hard did you try, Bill? What great lengths did you go to after we spoke?”

 “The day before the Battle, I tried to find the time to speak to her, all morning I tried to get her alone. Dean and Luna were there though and I couldn’t find the right moment.” The words sounded false and hollow and Bill inwardly cringed at the half lies.

 “Couldn’t find the right moment? You had all day, Bill.” Hermione stepped towards him now, a fire in her eyes, anger blazing and making her hair seem to crackle with electricity. Within him the wolf laid back its ears, cautious but still impressed with the witch’s fire. “Luna and Dean would have given you time and space if you had asked. Luna _knew_ what had happened the night before! I even went as far as telling her, everything!”

The truth was that Luna had warned him, had tried to cajole him into action, all day at the cottage. He had let Fleur’s power control him again and again and, even as he recognised its influence he had been unable to fight it. She may only be a quarter Veela but Luna’s words were true: that power, when turned directly against a person, was formidable and Fleur had been using it as a weapon against him for some time.

Hermione jabbed a finger into his chest, pushing him back till his back hit the edge of the archway. “You didn’t try because you didn’t believe your own words enough to take a chance on us! You took what _she_ gave you as the easy option.” Her voice rose was angry and bitter, in equal measure.

 “Do you have _any_ idea of how much you hurt me? How painful it was to think you had found someone who cared for you; someone who made you feel complete, looked at you like they wanted you? A man that thought on your level, lit up the darkness and stopped the pain? Made you feel alive once more? We only had a day together… I guess your heartfelt words in the bathroom meant fuck all to you, after all! You just renewed the Fidelius Charm and told no-one else, vanishing on your whole family and everyone who lov… who cared for you.”

Hermione stepped away, breathing heavily, turning her face from Bill and walking across the room and placing one of the large armchairs between them. “Just… just go home, Bill,” she said quietly, eyes on the floor. “Please? Just forget any of it happened, for both our sakes.”

Bill felt his heart clenching in sorrow but, as well the pain, there was a burning fire, an anger that wanted to respond and lash out. The moon, unseen but not unfelt, was nearly full and Bill knew that this month would be worse than last. He was damned if he was going to leave now though! The wolf had answers for this female but first it was angry. A fiery rage was building in red-head’s heart.

 “What Fidelius Charm?” he spat, biting off each word as if it was a curse. He desperately tried to keep a hold on his anger but the wolf was growing, stronger and stronger, and Bill was moving forward, into the room again. He felt his hands clenching and relaxing and tried to keep them at his sides. “I _cancelled_ that Charm after Voldemort fell. Shell Cottage has not been hidden from anyone since the war ended!”

 “What are you talking about?” Hermione said, glaring at him. “There is a Fidelius Charm on your house, and you _didn’t_ know? Are you that far under her spell?”

 “Hermione,” he growled, “why the hell do you think there’s a…”

 “Because your fucking house is not where it should be, Bill!” she yelled at him. “Alright? No-one’s seen you for two months! Molly’s been going insane with worry but you never answer her letters. Percy visited Tinworth a month ago and…” She faltered slightly before rallying, squaring her shoulders defiantly. “And I went with him because I was worried. Your house is not there, Bill. Percy and I searched that entire cliff,” she shouted, “and there is no sign of it. Even Dobby’s grave is gone, which upset Harry.”

Bill felt his chest tighten painfully with hurt and shame but, still in control was a terrible anger, stoked into greater heat now. He closed the distance, pushing the heavy armchair out of the way, almost flipping it, and taking hold of Hermione’s arm in a vice like grip. “Listen to me, witch, I have spent the last two months in some kind of exile with a crazy, French bitch who is really fucking angry with me. That small bedroom that you three planned your little trip to Gringotts in? That’s been my damn prison since after the June full moon; all because I told Fleur that she was half the witch you were, when I was under the influence of the moon.”

 “Bill, you’re hurting me!” Hermione said, trying to pull herself free.

 “You want to know about pain?” he spat, hands moving to her shoulders and gripping at the base of her neck. “I spent the last full moon without my potion because _she_ decided to punish me. This creature inside me, this wolf, is too strong for me to control and I’m beginning to change.”

His hands were starting to tremble and he could see real fear in Hermione’s eyes now. He tried to control himself, desperately hauling the wolf in, feeling himself losing control, inch by inch. The beast within him wanted this witch, recognised her fire as a match and her strength as the perfect compliment to its power. He knew that there was something in his eyes that showed her the creature in all its terrible glory and he screamed silently for her to get away before he lost control completely; terrified of what would happen when the full moon finally appeared in the sky.

 “I felt it pushing out of my skin, trying to escape. It was desperate to run free, just rip itself out of my body and howl at the moon. I am less than a man, just like she says, barely human during those three days…”

 “Bill, please,” Hermione gasped, her voice restricted by his large hands, his grip increasing against his will. Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes as she was pushed down to her knees before him.

 “She took my wand,” he yelled. “She chained me up in that tiny fucking room and left me to the mercy of the monster inside me. I tried to escape, so many times, Hermione. Each time she stunned me and dragged me back, punishing me for the relationship I had with you. Because she knew! She had known all along! I only escaped this time because she went away for the night; to the city to fuck her lover, no doubt!”

Bill growled wordlessly, desperate to take Hermione, needing her body, her heart. And yet he fought, didn’t want it to be like this. He wanted to be in control, for her to come to him willingly: to truly be his by choice. But the wolf was in control, angry and filled with rage and unwilling to wait anymore. The wolf would subjugate her and then claim her.

He saw Hermione’s fear filled eyes as they looked up at him. He saw the tears that trickled down her cheeks and he railed against the wolf, throwing himself against its superior strength.

He let out a howl of rage and frustration but could not force his hands from Hermione’s throat.


	6. Chapter 6

Bill sank to his knees beside her, pulling at the wolf and desperately stamping on it within his heart. Blessedly it released its grip with a wounded snarl and Bill felt control of himself return in a rush.

Instantly he released his grip on Hermione, shuddering as she choked and gasped, her hands gripping his wrists.

 “Merlin’s beard, Hermione! I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry! I can barely control it now; especially during the full moon… it’s too strong!” He felt the tears flow down his own face and he cupped her cheeks gently, his thumbs brushing the liquid from her eyes. His drew great gulps of air, feeling light headed and shaky, as if he had been running hard.

The wolf prowled at the back of his mind, cowed by Bill’s strength for the time being but not defeated. _Only a few more minutes_ , it promised him. _Soon the moon will ride high in the sky. Claim her, or I will._

 “Bill,” Hermione sobbed, reaching out to touch his hair, his face. “Oh, my love, my darling…” Her fingers traced his jaw line, stroking his scars, her eyes soft and sad as they stared into his. “I had no idea, I’m so sorry I let her do this to you.”

 “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, ever again,” he whispered.

Hermione was already shaking her head, moving closer to him and smiling sadly. “I know that wasn’t you, Bill, but something needs to be done and soon. I should never have let her have that potion, I should have insisted on seeing you again. I’m supposed to be the Order’s Chief Potion Master! Severus would never have given a potion without knowing the recipients exact symptoms; I let my anger at you cloud my mind and I am so, so sorry!”

Her lips pressed against his, soft and tender and Bill felt his heart leap with joy. For the first time in weeks the feeling in his stomach was not bile and rage, but light and happiness; a rabble of butterflies frolicking within him and he smiled with genuine mirth. He returned her kiss, pulling her to him and feeling her lips part, her soft tongue ghosting over his mouth. He took the invitation and his own tongue met hers, soft and gentle – a loving kiss between two hearts.

Hermione deepened the kiss, her arms wrapping tighter about Bill’s head, pulling him closer. He responded in kind, lifting her and dragging her into his lap, his body reacting to her touch and the blood pounding through his veins. Dipping his head he kissed lightly along her jaw, down to her throat, across her shoulder. His hands caressed her back, skating along her side to rise and brush against the underside of her breasts. Hermione sighed into his mouth, beginning to pull at his coat, trying to slide it off his shoulders.

At that moment Bill’s sensitive hearing picked up the sound of raised voices downstairs. An argument, three people at least, and the distinctive lilt of a French accent raised his hackles instantly. His throat closed up and he pulled away from Hermione, breathing hard. Taking it for invitation, unable to hear what he could, Hermione swivelled around, straddling him more comfortably and pulling at his shirt.

Bill grabbed her hands, stilling them, fear chasing through his body as he felt the wolf begin to snarl in his mind; the feral beast began to move closer and Bill felt the moon turn its face fully upon the Earth. Hermione’s eyes widened, noticing Bill’s fear and her expression showing her own.

 “Please, Hermione, I need the potion,” he gasped, fighting to breathe. Bill felt his heart hammering in his chest, the burn of acid in his throat. Fire raced through his veins and his skin was horribly sensitive, almost every touch painful. The wolf leapt closer, pushing to the fore again. Bill closed his eyes tight, focusing on keeping the beast back, fighting a losing battle with every second. “Please, I don’t want to feel this way.”

With a cry, he convulsed and fell back, toppling Hermione to the floor but unable to release her hands. “Forget me, just run,” he cried, “get out of here! I don’t want to hurt you. I love you, Hermione.”

Her name ripped from his lips as a scream of pain. Hermione pulled away from him but Bill held her tight, his hands gripping her hands and preventing her from running.

 “Bill! Bill, my love, please, let me go,” she said, her voice rising with her fear. “I’ll get the potion and you can stay here with me. We’ll talk this all out… we’ll get through this together! I promise, Bill!”

 “No,” Bill growled, gasping as pain lanced through his body. “No potion… never again… I need you!” His eyes opened suddenly and he felt, rather than saw, Hermione start in surprise.

His vision was slightly blurred, skewed almost; too sharp and he couldn’t focus anymore. He knew his eyes were blue – not their usual light blue but an electric blue that shone like lightning – his pupils like black holes, vast and menacing; a wolf’s eyes.

Bill screamed in pain, still a human sound, and his grip on Hermione was unrelenting. Soon though his voice rose to an inhuman howl and he felt his jaw shifting and expanding. His teeth began to shift, his canines growing by painful increments, the agony of it lancing through his whole head. The tickle of his hair, growing down his back, almost went unnoticed as his clothes strained against his shoulders.

He convulsed violently, unable to maintain his hold on the female and she pulled away from him. His body was growing, more than it had before and he revelled in the power that would be his. Part of him tried to scream at his mate, trying to tell her to run, to leave him and get out. It was too late for sentiment; he had waited too long for this female to be his, to be his mate. Now he would take what the other was too weak to claim!

His mate had pulled away from him more, back pedalling across the floor. She was strong and powerful and he needed her. In an instant he sprang forward and pinned the small woman to the floor, smelling her scent and her fear. It was good that she feared him a little: he was her Alpha, after all. He saw her magical power and gloried in the knowledge that she was the perfect mate for him. Her body crackled with energy and he felt it burn him with its strength. He lunged forward, hearing the high pitched scream of a woman in pain.

His teeth closed on flesh and hot, fresh blood filled his mouth, flooded his senses with a feeling of completion at last. He lifted his head and howled his triumph to the ancient beams of the house. He could feel her heart beat, her racing, angry thoughts, her rapid breathing; the wand in her hand.

He snapped his gaze down her face. Hermione’s angry expression was framed by her bushy hair, pulled out of its tail by the struggle, lifting and crackling with raw power. The ragged holes in the shoulder of her blouse were visible through the splash of blood that coated her arm and upper body. She was bleeding heavily and he wondered if, in his eagerness, he had bitten too deep.

 “You fucking shit!” she spat. “Give me back my Bill!”

He roared in anger that she would defy him, seeing her intention even as he registered her words. The jet of red light still caught him by surprise though and he was blasted back, across the room. Something heavy struck him in the back, spinning him, and the sudden impact of the fireplace against his head made everything go black.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

He first became aware of noise. It was a low, rumbling sound that peaked and fell irregularly. Sight slowly began to return, fuzzy and doubled at first but clearing rapidly. The noise began to resolve itself into voices; voices raised in anger.

He picked out at least three but only had ears for his mate. He could feel her fury, pounding in his heart, as she shouted at the tall blonde woman, stood in front of her.

Slowly he pushed himself upright, moaning in pain and clapping a hand to his throbbing temple. He felt a rough bandage there, bound around his head with a patch of dampness in the centre, over his right eye. Instantly he felt his mate drop to her knees beside him, her tender hands brushing hair away from his eyes to look at him. He saw her shoulder was bound in a clean bandage, similar to his head.

Then Fleur raised and shook her hand and the terrible sound came; the loud, ringing of hammers on anvils that signalled pain. Instinctively he scrambled back, attempting to get away from the witch before she could flay his skin again.

 “Stop it, you monster!” yelled Hermione, leaping to her feet and shoving the taller woman back. “Why have you got one of those awful things?”

 “Ee is dangerous! But ee ‘as learned to fear this, and ze pain eet promises,” Fleur declared, holding something out to Hermione. “Ze Goblins at Gringotts told me about ze Clankers they used to control ze dragon. Eet seems to work well on ‘alf men too.” Her face was haughty and disgusted as she looked at Bill.

 “And you know how well it worked out for them, in the end” said Harry, quietly, stood in the doorway. He had his arms folded and was glaring at the blonde witch. Luna was stood to one side, helping another person pack items into a black bag. Bill could smell the leather of the bag as well as the owner’s identity by his scent: Ron, his brother.

 “Eet does not matter,” Fleur continued, dismissing Harry’s words with a flick of her hand. “Ze beast ees dangerous and will come with me, for everyone’s sake.”

Bill tried to stand but failed, his legs trembling, unwilling to hold his weight. He could only watch as Hermione positioned herself before him, blocking Fleur.

 “Regardless of anyone’s personal feeling on the matter,” said Ron, coming to stand beside Hermione, “I’m not letting you take him anywhere. As my patient I get final say on his care.”

Ron hefted his bag, slinging it over his shoulder where Bill could see the emblem of St Mungo’s on the leather. Since the Battle of Hogwarts Ron had trained to be a medi-wizard, first with Poppy Pomfrey, then at St Mungo’s itself. Now, only a few months later, he was able to perform more medical magic than Bill knew and had a firm grasp of Muggle practices as well.

 “You are not fit to care for this man, Miss Delacour,” Ron continued, “but I’m willing to entrust him to Hermione Granger here.”

 “He’s going nowhere!” Hermione hissed, glaring at the French witch, “but _you_ are leaving, Fleur Delacour. Get out of this house, before I throw you out!”

 “You do not scare me, little witch. Nor you, tiny boy, playing at doctor and thinking ‘imself a man.”

Bill saw the precise moment when Fleur turned her Veela influence on his brother. Ron though seemed to almost buckle for a moment and Hermione caught his arm to hold him up. Most interesting though was the evil light in Fleur’s eyes, a vicious glint that showed her manipulative streak as she stared into Ron’s eyes. He had never seen it before and it chilled his blood to see the malicious glee on her face.

The younger, flame-haired man held her gaze, gradually standing tall again. “A while ago,” he said quietly, “that would have worked on me. Only a few months back I would have fallen for that and felt exactly what you were telling me to feel; small, petty and insignificant – unworthy to be in your presence.

 “Now though, I’ve got other things to put my faith in than pretty, French girls.” Ron stepped forward and Bill felt a surge of pride at his brother’s defiance. “You’ve got no power over me, Veela. There’s only one person that holds my heart.”

Bill struggled to his feet once more and Fleur’s eyes found his, raising the Clanker, only to have it batted from her hand by Hermione. Fleur retaliated by swinging for the bushy haired witch, the back of her hand smacking soundly against Hermione’s cheek. The younger witch was floored with a cry of pain and the room seemed to explode.

Harry started forward angrily, held back by Luna; Ron dropped to Hermione’s side with a cry, preventing the younger witch from using her wand. Meanwhile Fleur clapped her eyes back onto Bill, bearing down on his soul with everything she had. For a moment he felt it trying to slide under his skin, to take over his thoughts and twist them to the Veela’s desires. It was a different feeling than it had been before, more of an invasion then a twisting. Hermione’s strength bolstered his, helping him fight it.

Then, almost as if a candle had been snuffed, the invasive feeling was gone. The Beast was prominent in his mind he realised, and its animalistic nature, given full control, was too much for Fleur to overcome. It was enraged, furious that another had struck his female. Hermione was their everything; no-one would hurt her without answering to them!

There were cries of fear from the occupants of the room as Bill leapt over Ron with a snarl, grabbing Fleur by the throat and driving her backwards, slamming her against the wall, delighting in her cry of pain. “No more, witch,” he growled into her face. “You control me no longer!”

 “You were to be mine!” she whispered, angrily, staring into his eyes.

Bill was aware that the others had stilled; Luna beside Harry, Ron supporting Hermione as she stood. All four watched them, unwilling to interfere though he knew Hermione ached to help him.

Bill looked into Fleur’s eyes and smiled sadly, the rage leaking away. The Beast’s primal instinct gave him clarity and understanding of the blonde witch and it stepped back, allowing Bill to speak calmly. For a moment he was surprised but he took advantage of its leniency, beginning to understand the strange symbiosis of their evolving relationship.

 “No-one’s said no to you before,” he said, “have they, Fleur? You were always the prettiest girl at Beauxbatons, your Veela ancestry ensuring that you got your own way, every time? But now another, who you deemed to be inferior, has proved to be your better… in every way. And it is eating you alive, isn’t it?”

 “Stop eet,” Fleur said, tears in her eyes. “I loved you, Bill.”

Bill stepped back, releasing her and giving her space once more. “At one time, perhaps. And I loved you too. That’s the problem though, Fleur; you haven’t loved me for a long time. You just couldn’t stand someone else having me so you did everything you could to prevent it, and in the process, it killed any feelings I once had for you… any chance that this could have ended in any other way.”

The blonde woman stared at the floor, tears falling like rain at Bill’s words and he felt a sorrow in his heart that had nothing to do with any supernatural influence. He was truly sorry that it had happened like this. He held out his hand to Fleur.

She stared at it for a moment and then, slowly, pulled the ring from the third finger on her left hand and dropped it into Bill’s palm. She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, a slightly defiant caste to her face but mostly with a look of defeat and resignation.

 “Now,” he said, quietly, “Tell me where my house is, please.”


	7. Chapter 7

Bill gazed upwards. The night sky was clear and bright; the few clouds little more then streaks of fluff, chased away by the chill winter breeze. The bright light of the moon was reflected in his eyes and he stared up at the glowing semi-circle, feeling the Beast prowl in the back of his mind.

The bay at the base of the cliff was calm: the chill breeze was not enough to disturb the water, though the sand flowed, parting around his boots and forming swirling patterns in the near dark. It was a nice night, all in all, he mused.

He no longer felt like the moon was taunting him. Now it felt more like a companion, a distant friend even. The full moon caused some concern and it was hard to resist the urge to run, feral and savage, but things were improving. Every month the Beast was stronger, stirring his blood to fire and his mood was more volatile. Each time though there was an anchor, something to help him hold it together.

Mating with Hermione had soothed the wolf within, allowed it to be more controlled and almost peaceful. It was still a force of nature within him that needed to be studied but Hermione was enjoying the challenge. She had known all about the bite, what it meant for both of them. After her third year she had spent time with Professor Lupin, learning more about werewolves and their habits. She had discovered herself to have an affinity with wolves, having called to Remus when he was transformed and having him respond to her.

And they had spoken about the bond that a wolf or werewolf bite created between two people; an emotional tie and an almost psychic connection, in the loosest possible sense. It helped her to develop the potion and modify it to his needs.

He still wasn’t turning, not the way Lupin had when he was alive, but each month showed further development. What this made him, neither of them really knew but he was with his mate; his soul mate, his witch, and that was all that mattered.

“Bill!”

 _Speak of the devil_ , he thought with a grin, turning to see her walking towards him, the small cottage visible behind her, all lit up for Christmas. It had taken him ages to attach those fairy lights to the roof, he thought, and they looked bloody good, if he did say so himself.

Beside Hermione walked Luna, and Bill was genuinely pleased to see the strange, almost prophetic, witch. He moved to meet them; hugging Hermione fiercely and planting a firm kiss on her mouth before hugging Luna and lifting her off the ground. The petite blonde let out a delighted squeal and slapped him on the shoulders.

“Let me down, you big ruffian!” she said, laughing.

“You’re part of my pack, Luna,” Bill said with a grin, setting her down, “and you’re going to get hugged like that every time! So get used to it. Now, where’s that big hunk of a man of yours?”

“Harry’s already inside, with George and Ron,” said Hermione, brushing her hair out of her face as the breeze picked up.

“How is he?” Bill asked, concerned.

“George?” Hermione sighed and shrugged. “He keeps himself a little bottled up these days but I think he’s okay, a little depressed tonight, I think.”

Bill nodded and the three of them started walking towards Shell Cottage. “Understandable. He still misses Fred. I do too if I’m honest. Never thought that’d be the case but I do.”

“It’s been a while now, since George was left on his own,” said Luna, “what’s happening with the shop?”

“Well,” said Bill, “It’s shut at the moment. George is spending Christmas away from it and Verity is on maternity leave. I know Ron can’t stay long tonight, but he wanted to stick his head round the door and wish us a merry Christmas before he returns to her side.”

“It’s nice that those two got together, isn’t it?” said Luna happily. “So then after Christmas…?”

“Yes,” said Bill, “Fred’s due back from America just before New Year. No doubt laden with stories and pranks, strange devices and Merlin only knows what! Can’t believe Weasley Wizarding Wheezes is going international.”

“Still find it strange that they didn’t go together,” said Hermione, linking her arm through Bill’s and snuggling into his side. “It’s been difficult for George. You’d have thought Fred had _died_ , the way he’s been moping around.”

“I think they wanted to keep the shop open over the school holidays, when all the kids are getting ready to go back to Hogwarts; first new term since the War and all that.”

“It is strange being back, after being on the run for so long,” said Hermione quietly and Luna nodded her agreement. “But I need my NEWTS and I’m not going to get anywhere in this world without them.” She reached up and ruffled Bill’s hair. “Besides, they might give me some ideas on how to deal with this little furry problem of mine.”

“Oh, is he growing hair elsewhere now!?” said Luna, stepping around Bill and pulling Hermione away from him. “Excuse me Bill, girl talk… carry on.” She linked arms with Hermione, waving for Bill to walk on.

The older man grinned and rolled his eyes, continuing towards the cottage while the girls dawdled behind. His sensitive ears picked up some of the conversation though.

“Yes, the last potion, I think, with some slight modification, might help him keep more control during the full moon,” said Hermione.

“That’s good,” said Luna, “but how is it being linked to him? You know… with other things.”

Hermione laughed and Bill felt his face start to burn. “Well, he can’t hide things from me, nor I from him. I know that he’s blushing like a tomato right now, for example. We’re still working though our various issues but… this emotional connection? The sex is fantastic!”

 _Can’t argue with that_ , Bill thought to himself.

**_* Mischief Managed *_ **


End file.
